Ayaz Daryl Nielsen- Two Poems

my wife and I

got there before 

anyone else

we ate, we drank,

we partied hardy

and left as others

began arriving. . .

best damn party ever.

All the bargains

I have made 

and broken 

And it seems

as though time 

is closing in

So, you know, 

I’ll just break 

a few more.

ayaz daryl nielsen, x-roughneck (as on oil rigs)/hospice nurse, editor of bear creek haiku (25+ years/125+ issues), homes for poems include Lilliput Review, SCIFAIKUEST, Dead Snakes, Shamrock, Kind of a Hurricane, and!  online at:  bear creek haiku  poetry, poems and info 

Linda M. Crate- Two Poems

a second chance 

 

that ship has sailed

you can't believe everything you've heard about me

i will never be under your control again

you are but a man, no god

no one knows that better than i;

seduced by your mystery and intrigue and beautiful

lustrous locks

i let my common sense fade into the wings of

oblivion—

let my infatuation guide me

both my mind and my heart sighed

i ignored them,

and in return my heart was shattered and you left my soul

in such a state of agony that it spooled outward so

far the moon could turn and kiss it in a

moment;

but the moon instead took those pieces

sewed me back together

looked me in the eyes and told me to pick myself up—

i woke one morning and the pain you had

caused me was gone

it was a second chance to live again 

to fall in love again

as if i had never been hurt

before.

shining fearless as the sun 

 

the sun shines ever so brightly

my joy shines radiant

as sunbeams,

i know you'd like to think that you're

the reason;

but i don't think of you that way anymore

i loved you once and always

but i'm not in love

anymore

i can move again without being in such deep

suffering that you are not mine—

though, i'll always wish things happened

differently, i'm not going to dwell

on the past;

my eyes face forward for a reason and i know

there's a beautiful future waiting for me

in the burning smile of the fearless

sun.

 

 

Douglas Polk- Three Poems

Baltimore

the Baltimore riots,

bastard child of an Arab Spring,

and Occupy Wall Street,

expectations and excuses,

grow with each passing day,

dependence bred from generation to generation,

the reasons for the riots,

along with the scapegoats,

visible to all,

the truth in plain view,

but for many,

not so easy to see.

 

 

 

The Court

justice supreme,

a razor's edge,

five to four,

over and over again,

once quite sharp,

now dulled with abuse,

politics not justice,

rules the day,

the court's chief justice,

voice less,

ball less,

and a bit of a nerd,

a Bush appointee,

RBG,

a crippled little lady,

with enormous pull,

enormous sway,

dominates the court,

now a place of politics,

instead of law,

anarchy institutionalized.

The U.N.

the United Nations,

Roosevelt's joke,

could only live,

because he died,

four terms of Roosevelt,

and stagnation and decay,

creating a nation of morons,

unworldly,

the nicest thing to say,

World War II a saving grace,

producing soldiers,

and leaders,

unafraid of the Washington elite,

fully aware of Roosevelt's joke, 

best ignored,

and disobeyed.

 

 

Adreyo Sen- A Poem

A Couple in Central Park

They did not know each other when they married.

Of each other there are still large parts 

they do not know.

They converse in niceties worn down to  grunts.

She cooks him sesame chicken when he's unhappy,

he always brings home Toblerones

when he goes abroad.

But if they do not know each other's stories,

they still know each other's heart -

it is their heart's heart that lies bewildered

in the pram in front of them 

and in their silence is a shared mirth.

 

 

Richard Schnap- A Poem

BEHIND THE WALLS

I am the angel
With a skeleton key
That unlocks every door

That sees the mother
Shielding her child
From his father’s rage

That watches the widower
Draining his last beer
Then going out for more

That observes the divorcee
Taking her wedding dress
And tearing it to shreds

That hears the cries
Of the disabled child
The other kids laugh at

That whispers to the woman
With terminal cancer
Don’t be afraid

Dalon Ryan- Art

#1  "Abandoned"
#2  "Always On My Mind"
#3  "Lady Night"


My art can be ordered at : fineartamerica.com
Artist Name: Dalon Ryan

B.Z. Niditch- Three Poems

JOINED AND DISJOINTED

Joined in a nascent spring

in a Blakean mood

here in England on May Day

a crocus in my hand

by the country dark road

the wind whispers to me

by unblocking first light

on my sunglasses

hearing the waves 

in echoes of mourning doves

a poet who dreamed of peace 

awakened on my knapsack

blowing my sax riffs

by the Thames

wanting to splash down

my disjointed rhythm,

soon crowds hear me

reading out loud

on these stoned hours

poisoned by ex lovers,

starlets, soap opera stars,

who in my youth

seduced and enticed me

to believe that a night's love

was more than cloth

of an unfastened dress rehearsal

for a new playhouse 

in their bedroom eyes of words.

AT PLYMOUTH ROCK

There are few Puritans

here of any sort

under the flaring sun

round heads need not apply

or hidden royalty

of Cavaliers

in their collars

only tourist dollars

are their loyalty

at any last resort

yet there is a boy by the rocks

with his sports gear

by his backpack side

reading my poetry

in solitude, out of sight

and an ex bride of a few years

with long blonde locks

stretched out

on the white sand

with a seared copy

of sexy Restoration plays

in her small hand

with a fragile sunflower

you hold on

so why fear

the early morning

when you dream

on the ineffable earth

of the last icy winter

at the early hour

love glances at your guest

changing the  first light

on your face

there is a limpid smile

you had in sleep.

MAY DAY

Aware of the power

of water, sand ,tree

in the honeysuckle

by the Charles River

on revolutionary fields

at Boston Common

near graves

by a poet's hushed light

on a feathered warmth

from muddy streams

green moss, lichen, stone

to open the springs

by fountains of pruning lilacs

no song birds are missing

only a thrush

calls on us to open a blanket

where mad lovers

on river beds

make out for a night

in the glimmering shadows

with faint sounds

who rub our initials

on Evergreen trees.

 

Scott Thomas Outlar- Two Poems

The Low Down Dirty Blues

  

A dagger

A drug

A fire in my side

sorted out in the veins

where the rubber meets the road

meets the tar meets the flak

meets the signpost

no turning back

on that lover

once she’s burrowed in

A poison

A parasite

A friend in disguise

laying waste to the flesh

as the heavens drop to earth

drop to soil drop to dirt

drop to magma

get the hammer

with eruption

surely blowing soon

A crisis

A chaos

A rhythm in disrepair

grinding away at the metal

with a twisted sound

torturing ears torturing souls

torturing love

through a madness

bent to bring

the whole song down

Vomited

  

The wave burns in the rain

like unto like

retards the agenda

and we are left

in the abysmal apocalypse

straining toward the next urge

primal though it might be

anything to push ahead

and keep up with

the pace of evolution

When the going gets rough

the rough get burned

When life gets tough

the meat

is spit out

on the plate

but it’s all

just a little

too late

Bio:

Scott Thomas Outlar writes because there is no other way. His chapbook "A Black Wave Cometh" is available through Etsy. More of his words can be found at 17numa.wordpress.com.

Alan Britt- A Poem

HALF PAST THE MIDDLE

Yucca, piano's ivory molars chomping

tequila, crunching every topaz drop

between Roman columns of moonlight’s

aquamarine kisses that March evening trolling

balmy sands below the Lake Worth Pier.

Yuccas & pianos share ancestry; each recall

grandparents fumbling for rifles & wishing

they could attend the Sunday Flickers,

wishing they could construct reality

to match the reality they imagined.

                     (some symbols)

Virginia tobacco with a hint of the cosmos

or skinks wriggling hieroglyphic Florida

sandy thoroughfares between humans &

turquoise stripes steaming liquorice bodies!

                    !... ★...!

Let the second in command speak;

the possibility of blue-ringed politicians

fingering our daily lives——bells with

algae clanging for dear life, bells whose

tongues tell the tale, always have, always

won't, god willing, bells with plaid horses

& organic thoughts about plaid horses,

bells with the will to induce pregnancy,

bells with the patience to digest fantasies

at church luncheons, macaroni escaping

segmented cardboard plates, broiled whitefish

in gravy that resembles melted brain matter

over pine needles scrunched beneath the ceremonial

claws of Wolf stalking Red beneath a hair dryer

at the corner of Liberty & Main.

Notwithstanding, aphids posing as evangelicals

on Cable scrounging paychecks from those

who beg for change →← any change,

as Baudi said, any change at all: I'm down

to two bulbs; won't go back to eight & just

like that another stumbles through the flesh

eating vines this side of 11PM; millions

watch the corporate news while pounding

potato salad onto limp plates because

the barbequed chicken might someday be

them; that's correct, we are as we are, &

shall be, on & on, until we scale the gates

of empathy; though, the palace of wisdom

is tempting; still, the gates of empathy go

a long way toward that other palace.

Worth a shot.

BIO:

Prefering to "lean and loafe at [his] ease," Alan Britt is troubled by the corruption and ambivalence that permeates the Great Experiment, so politically speaking he has started the Commonsense Party, which ironically to some sounds radical. He believes the US should stop invading other countries to relieve them of their natural resources including tin, copper, bananas, diamonds and oil, that it’s time to eliminate corporate entitlements and reduce military spending in order to properly educate its citizenry, thereby reducing crime and strengthening the populace in the manner that Jefferson envisioned. He is quite fond of animals both wild and domestic and supports prosecuting animal abusers. As a member of PETA, he is disgusted by factory farming and decorative fur. 

Raymond Miller- A Poem

Folk Music

He was like, Bob,

and she was like, Joan,

and I introduced them

to Leonard Cohen

whom they found exotic

like tea and orange

and faded blue denim

was covered by raincoats

they carried in bags

all the way from West Bromwich.

He began to speak softly

and slowly with meaning

and she no more ironed

her hair at the table

or turned up at weekends

to protest at something.

Their voices were rivers

ran deep as The Bible

they could have been bigger

than Barry McGuire

but fell under the spell

cast by last year’s man

and the sisters of mercy

were laughing and crying

until there were no more

grapes on the vine.

And so by and by

the circle was broken;

love was just

a four letter word

and the masters of war

died at their own chosen speed.

Ray Miller hasn't got a day job.